strangers in the dark
by the alphabet soup
Summary: Luke's few moments while he was in control during the Second Titan War.


**Disclaimer: I don't own PJO.**

It felt like he was paralysed.

Or maybe that was the wrong term because didn't people who were paralysed know they had limbs but they simply were not able to move them? If that was wrong, then maybe he was paralysed, but Luke would have forgotten that he had limbs at all if he stopped looking down at where he stood.

Or rather where he didn't stand because all that was under him was blackness. All that surrounded him was blackness. It was like he was in a room with no doors or windows or light but he was not oblivious to the world outside the sheltered room. In fact he was well aware of what was happening outside of the black room. He knew that Kronos was in full control of his body, or _almost_ in full control since Luke was still able to think freely, and he knew very well what Kronos was doing. They were finally going to bring down the gods and the demigods whose parents were minor gods would finally have the recognition they deserved. For once he was genuinely happy. Or perhaps happy was too strong of a word for the moment. No, maybe a better word would be satisfied. He had finally eaten his fill at the round dinner table and he would be eating desserts soon enough. Mouthwatering and succulent desserts that took the form of a god that was too weak to stand.

Yes, he would definitely be enjoying the desserts.

But...the longer he stayed in the dark room the more clarity his mind was given. By staying in the dark room he was given time to think about his actions and what they had caused. He had not fully regretted them, but he began to think about what he had done and how the consequences had turned out. Nothing had turned out for the better and he began to think if what he had done was right. The gods would fade because of him since their link to Western Civilization would disappear, but the minor gods would have recognition. The Titans would take over the rule of the gods and that seemed fair and right, but then he realized that Kronos might not keep his promise and the minor gods would remain nothing and the unclaimed demigods would receive less than dust on a windowsill. All of this, all this fighting and war, anger and hate, it would have all been for nothing.

His mortal body would be destroyed for nothing.

He had bound himself to Kronos, Titan of time, for nothing.

So he began to fight his way out of the darkness. He groped for some sort of handhold on anything that was stuck in the endless black. His hands and arms flailed around as he stepped forward into the unknown. He knew he would not fall, however, because there could not be a hole in a mind like his that was so full of anger and hate and rage and feelings of revenge. There was simply no room.

His fingertips brushed a smooth doorknob that felt recently polished. He gripped it with his fingers and he turned his wrist to the left and pulled back. The door opened and the room was filled with light. It blinded him at first and he closed his eyes and turned his face away from the light. He opened his eyes and looked at the now-visible walls, ceiling, and floor and realized they were painted black like he had previously thought.

He looked towards the doorway after his eyes had gotten used to the bright light. He stepped through the doorway without hesitation and he was greeted with a screaming Ethan Nakamura as he fell into a crevice that led to Tartarus. It was like he had opened his eyes for the first time since the war began, yet he was not pleased like he felt he should be.

There was fighting all around him and shouts and battle cries. The smell of blood and sweat hung in the air and he found it almost difficult to breathe. He saw Percy Jackson in the overwhelming mass of bodies and saw countless others from the camp he once called home. He saw the monsters attacking demigods and demigods attacking either other. He saw the hate and fury in their eyes and he noticed that they were winning. His side, the Titans, were winning. It could have been the best day of his life. It should have been the best day of his life. He should be ecstatic beyond belief and he wasn't.

He saw Annabeth in the crowd of bodies that were pressed uncomfortably against each other and for a moment he was fourteen and she was seven and they were running from who-knows-what.

She looked him in the eyes and he saw resolve weaken. He left incredibly _weak_.

He watched as a hellhound bit a demigod repeatedly and brought him to the ground. He did not get up. This was his fault.

He watched as a young girl, scarcely ten, was accidentally cut with a spear as another demigod was dodging the attack meant for them. This was his fault.

He watched as monsters exploded into golden dust that was carried by the winds and were replaced by double the amount. This was his fault. All his fault.

He closed his eyes and, as if on cue, was ripped viciously from his body and he once again found himself in the room that was pitch black. _This whole war was all his fault._

He couldn't stop the images that sprang to his mind. He and Thalia and Annabeth were running down a hill, laughing with stupid grins plastered on their faces. He and his father when Hermes first visited him and told him to steal a golden apple. He and his mother as her eyes grew glassy and green. He and Percy as the young boy was writhing in agony at the fire in his veins. Thalia's tree as he watched his wither and begin to fade. The war and death and anger and fear all around his body as he waited in this unbelievably dark room for the end.

He had done this.

And now he was going to die.


End file.
